God decides
by Issai
Summary: Aramis had his reasons to leave for the monastery as soon as possible – Rochefort did not treat him as civilly as it seemed. Spoiler for the ending of season 2. Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. Especially the characters you can recognize ;) Riversidewren, thank you!


**God decides**

As the first rays of the sun entered the little stone cell, the abbot sighed tiredly. He had spent all the night fighting the fever which was burning up the young man lying in the bed in front of him. He had been found unconscious near the main gate two days ago, his horse grazing nearby.

The man was obviously a fugitive. His entire body, except for his face and palms, had been marked by whiplash and fire. His wrists still had abrasions from the shackles. However, the wounds, which were not deep, were not killing him- it was the infection which had set in. The abbot could not get rid himself of the impression that the young criminal had come here in order to die in peace-and the elderly monk was determined to offer him that chance. However, he still held a slim hope that he could save the man, and worked to bring his fever down.

The wounded man whispered a few words. He was begging for forgiveness, and the abbot continued to pray for his soul. He was still praying when he stood up and reached for the holy oil which had been brought to him. His voice trailed off for a moment before he started to give the last rites. The was not much more he could do for the tormented soul that was clearly ready to leave the broken body that it inhabited. Perhaps it was the most merciful thing for his patient.

He had had much practice in performing this sacrament. _Too much_ , he thought bitterly, as he smoothly recited the Latin words. He realized that someone had entered the cell, but he knew that the monk would respectfully wait for him to finish. When he made the last sign of the cross on the criminal's forehead, he glanced quizzically at the newcomer.

"Father, there are soldiers at the gate. They are asking about someone whose description fits our… guest."

The abbot nodded in resignation. _So they have come to arrest you_ , he thought sadly. He knew he should probably condemn the bandit, but it was such a difficult thing to accept the cruelty of the justice that the temporal world often meted out.

"I'll talk to them."

Perhaps he would be able to convince them to let this man die in peace. He went to the gate. The young monk on duty was trying to prevent the soldiers from entering the monastery. Although the eldest of them seemed to be content to wait, another was already maneuvering to sneak inside.

"Messieurs, I have been informed that you are searching for a dark haired young man. A person fitting that description is indeed in this monastery. However, I plead with you to let him die in peace…"

"NEVER!" A pair of large hands caught hold of his habit. "WHERE IS HE?!" shouted the dark skinned soldier, full of fury. The abbot was quite sure that the whole affair was very personal for this soldier. He guessed that the bandit must have killed someone close to this very angry man.

"I'll lead you to him, Monsieur. Then you can judge his condition for yourself."

The three soldiers followed him closely, although none of them had unsheathed their weapon. They apparently believed his word that the wounded man was not any danger to them.

He opened the door. The dark skinned man made a strange sound, like a sob, then lunged towards the bed. The abbot was ready to attempt to restrain him, as he was adamant that he would not allow a murder within the walls of his monastery. However, one of the other soldiers, the eldest one, put a hand on his arm to stay him. He could only watch as the big soldier gathered the wounded man in his arms. It seemed that he had in fact never planned to harm the monastery's guest.

Porthos was on the edge. Each inch of the corridor that the old man led them down seemed close to infinity. When finally he saw his beloved brother, he could not breathe. Aramis seemed so small lying in the bed. His face was flushed with fever, his lips slightly parting when he gasped for air.

"Mis!" he sobbed, embracing his friend.

"What is wrong with him?" He dimly heard Athos question the monk, and listened intently for an answer.

"He was tortured. His wounds are seriously infected. He is too weak to fight the infection. My guess is that he has not eaten much for the last week or more… This, combined with fever, blood loss, and…" his voice trailed off.

"And?" prompted Athos.

"He has gone through too much… I gave him the last rites. I doubt he will regain consciousness long enough for a confession…"

Athos felt his composure waver. Had they saved Aramis from execution, only to now lose him forever? He just could not accept it.

"Please leave us with our brother," he said, his voice low and raw, although still controlled and kind. The abbot understood, and closed the door as he left.

Porthos was full of remorse. "I knew I should have stopped him! He was not acting like himself!"

"Porthos, calm down. This monk doesn't know Aramis like we do. He will live."

The injured man moaned softly, the voices piercing the heat and pain which surrounded him. It sounded like his brothers, but he knew it was only a dream. It would always be nothing more than a dream. That thought hurt more than any torture that Rochefort had come up with.

"Porthos…?", he whispered, leaning towards the coolness of the hand that was touching him. "I know you're not real… but… God has been merciful in granting this hallucination to me. Can you forgive me? If you can, does that mean that Porthos -the real Porthos-forgives me?" he asked.

The dark skinned musketeer felt as if he was dying inside. There was so much despair in his brother's rough voice! Aramis began to shiver.

"I had to leave you… I made a vow… and… I… did not want to break down in front of you… I thought… that if God truly needs my service, he will save me… but… instead… He gave me your presence in a dream… I guess… it was a mistake to leave you… Jesus… I abandoned you… Brother… will you ever forgive me? Porthos… I'd give everything to have you really by my side… not to die alone… I'm… afraid… I was ready to die so many times in the past… but now… I'm afraid…

"Mis! I'm here! Please… live! Don't die… I beg you! Mis… I'm real! Please open your eyes!"

"No, you will disappear...and it will hurt too much. I… am tired of the pain."

Porthos cupped Aramis' face in his hands. He was horrified. His brother did not believe he was really here! His best friend was bidding farewell to what he perceived as a hallucination.

"ARAMIS!" He shook his friend, none too gently.

The Spaniard opened his eyes and looked at him. His brown orbs were bright from the fire that was consuming his body.

"Do you recognize me?" asked Porthos, dreading the reply.

"Why…?"

"I need you. We need you. War is coming. We need you, brother...by our side."

Aramis closed his eyes.

He breathed in the smell of leather, wine, and sweat.

It felt real.

It felt good.

It felt like belonging.

For the first time since he had left the Rochefort's prison, he felt safe. He knew what he needed to do. He prayed to God for an answer, and he received it. The relief he felt was overwhelming.

"I'll go with you, brother," he whispered.

"First, you must have strength to actually get up!" laughed Porthos. There was joy and utter relief in his laugh. Athos and d'Artagnan came closer to them, and Aramis extended his arms for a hug. God, he needed it so much. He now knew-he understood- that his place was with them.

And when he leaned into his brothers' embrace, he was sure that God- his merciful, loving God- accepted his decision.


End file.
